★★★★

“Nick Bagnall’s staging sharpens the chilling intelligence and intensity of Marwood’s performance, while the attention to detail is extraordinary”

In the semi darkness, Louise Marwood walks back and forth across the stage, the rumble of the trains above the arches resonating like peals of thunder, giving way to the innocent sound of a music box. A nursery rhyme echoes from the walls. A phone rings. A song plays. Then, more silence. The atmosphere is potent.

“You know when you throw something really important away by accident?”. A pause. “I did this with my life”. Immediately we have a taste of the raw honesty, the poignancy and the dark humour of the next hour, as Marwood takes on the persona of Rita Lynn – an accidental life coach. “I tell people how to live… and I’m dying!”. Rita in turn is a pseudonym for Imogen; a spiralling addict who is scraping rock bottom. A failed dance career has left her pockets as empty as her dreams. Heckled by her own thoughts and shackled with a toxic boyfriend, her cocaine fuelled madness leads her to the precipice of suicide. Except “my suicide note was so good, it made me want to live”. The deadpan delivery highlights Marwood’s skill at mixing the absurd with the reality, the laughter with the tears, the self-deprecation with the respect for integrity.

There is no shortage of plays – or films, or books – that portray addiction of one kind or another. What makes Marwood’s writing stand out is the complete lack of victim mentality or self-indulgence. She attacks the material with a deep understanding that permeates her performance. This girl knows what she is talking about. But she doesn’t lecture; she turns her harrowing story of survival into pure anecdotal entertainment.

Imogen, in desperation, attends a job interview for a personal assistant to Helen, a successful architect. Arriving at her home in Hampstead she discovers Helen’s regular therapist hasn’t turned up that day so, on the spur of the moment, passes herself off as the replacement. And so, Rita Lynn is born. The journey that this takes her on is peopled by the colourful, yet tragic, characters that orbit and encourage her chaotic life. Among them, we get to know her best friend, confidant, fellow addict and drag queen, Melian. Her lover Dexter and his four-year-old son Buddy. Although these characters are articulated through pre-recorded voiceovers, it is Marwood’s prose and execution that bring them to life (and in one or two cases, kills them off too).

Nick Bagnall’s staging sharpens the chilling intelligence and intensity of Marwood’s performance, while the attention to detail is extraordinary. Over-sized lines of cocaine mark the various locations on the stage. A plaintive nursery rhyme is occasionally heard, while the opening and closing soundtrack sets the mood with the bluesy strains of New Orleans singer, Irma Thomas, standing by her no-good man. Less successful perhaps are the digressions into pastiche scenarios of American sitcom or vintage TV advertising which, despite being dramatically clever, don’t quite sit with the general flow of the narrative.

As the humour slowly slips back into the silent darkness, we are struck by how close Marwood must be to the character she is portraying on stage. It is a brave undertaking. And it feels unresolved. The lines of cocaine still score the stage, although now smudged and smeared on her clothing. Has she wiped herself clean after all? This is Rita’s story, but the fact that it is also Marwood’s enriches the authenticity and adds vibrance to the comedy and the tragedy. Marwood’s lightness of touch reveals a dark soul. Ultimately this is a story of survival. The applause it earns at curtain call is multi-layered.

AFTERGLOW at Southwark Playhouse Borough

★★★★

“Stylistic scene changes and some beautifully choreographed moments lend a filmic quality”

Rarely does the phrase ‘the tea has gone cold’ carry such metaphorical and emotional clout. Spoken silently, almost subliminally, it is a pivotal moment. One of many that distance S. Asher Gelman’s “Afterglow” from the expectations created by the packaging and promo shots. There is a lot of baring of bodies, but the baring of souls waits until the clothes are back on.

Alex (Victor Hugo) and Josh (Peter McPherson) are a thirty-something married couple, about to have a baby via a surrogate mother. Comfortably off, they can afford the hedonism that fills the hours away from their respective jobs. Their epicurean sensibilities allow them to conduct an open relationship, albeit with rules and boundaries. When a younger Darius (James Nicholson) crosses the threshold, those boundaries are broken. The inner consequences are what this play is all about rather than the highly toned, lust-inducing flesh that triggers the landslide.

Gelman, who also directs and choreographs the piece, sets the mood from the outset. Three figures writhe; mere silhouettes behind a curtain of white gauze like some kind of human lava lamp. Evocative and mysterious until the curtain drops, and the mystique vanishes, giving way to post coital banter that introduces the three characters. They use the words well to establish themselves, creating an easy rapport and a sizzling chemistry that burns the sweat off their torsos. But once the hierarchy is laid down, it does drift for a while into familiar armchair philosophy and tried-and-tested discussions of love, loyalty, trust and commitment.

But once the exposition is out of the way, the performances cut into the raw emotion of their characters. The three actors are equally impressive in their portrayal of the complexities of this love triangle. The tugs of war between conflicting needs are evoked through tone and mannerism as well as language. Stylistic scene changes and some beautifully choreographed moments lend a filmic quality – a gloss that is chipped away the more the harmony of the relationships crumble. Loyalties are tested to the extreme, and secrets uncovered as we go along. The freedom these characters seemingly possess is perversely more of a shackle than monogamous commitment.

Ann Beyersdorfer’s cleverly changeable set, and Jamie Roderick’s dynamic lighting together create a slick, gay world. Although this is not necessarily gay theatre because the writing would work equally well with any combination of gender or disposition. The explicitness is somehow less shocking, however, in the setting of a young, male, gay threesome than it perhaps would have been in other configurations. One wonders: would this show court more controversy if the protagonists were mixed genders, or women? It is a moot point though. What matters is the honesty of the story being told, and Hugo, McPherson and Nicholson have the strength and talent to bring it to life. Beneath the promiscuity is a dignity and vulnerability. A deep-seated need just to ‘belong’.

An afterglow is what remains when the light has disappeared. The word is often misappropriated to be used as something that is desirable. To be basked in. “Afterglow” questions this concept with a finely tuned look at human relationships and the consequences of our actions. What remains when trust has disappeared? When the damage is done, and everything has changed? There are many lines crossed before the question is raised, and even then, the play can’t answer it. But it is definitely worth going to see it try.

RITA LYNN at the The Turbine Theatre

★★★★

“Nick Bagnall’s staging sharpens the chilling intelligence and intensity of Marwood’s performance, while the attention to detail is extraordinary”

RITA LYNN at the The Turbine Theatre

Reviewed on 24th January 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Nicholas Laborie

Previously reviewed at this venue:

RITA LYNN

RITA LYNN

AFTERGLOW at Southwark Playhouse Borough

★★★★

“Stylistic scene changes and some beautifully choreographed moments lend a filmic quality”

AFTERGLOW at Southwark Playhouse Borough

Reviewed on 22nd January 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by The Other Richard

Previously reviewed at Southwark Playhouse venues

AFTERGLOW

AFTERGLOW